


Cursed

by the_madhatter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Attempt at Humor, Attempt at smut, Confusion, Eventual Smut, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, John make up your mind!, M/M, Mycroft's a prick, On Hiatus, Sorry Not Sorry, This Is What Happens When I'm Bored, Vampire Sherlock, Well maybe a little sorry, Werewolf John, plot?, sherlocks got mood swings, sure there's a plot.., what am I thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_madhatter/pseuds/the_madhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John could never fully recover after what had happened to him while he was stationed in Afghanistan.  His nightmares would only get worse as time passed.  He would wake up in the middle of the night, startled and covered in sweat...</p><p>ON HIATUS (will return as soon as inspiration comes back)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Alas! I do not own any characters portrayed in this work, i just use them tehe

John could never fully recover after what had happened to him while he was stationed in Afghanistan.  His nightmares would only get worse as time passed.  He would wake up in the middle of the night, startled and covered in sweat.  He had to stay with his sister Harry, until he could find a reasonable job to pay for his own place. His condition didn’t help the living situation.   

It didn’t help that Harry had kicked him out after she found out.  It was understandable though.  John has never told anyone what he was suffering from, Harry just happened to walk into his room without notice when he was in the middle of a shift.  She refused to talk about it, and he found most of his things by the door in the morning; so he took it as his cue to leave.

The weight of the burden, and his pent up anger made him snap more than once.  One of the best doctors in London couldn’t hold a job for more that a month.  He stayed at a different flat every few months or so, it all depended on where he got a job.

He was currently staying in a run down place in one of the bad parts of London.  He only stayed by telling himself it was good for him and the change.  It was a week before the full moon, not the best time to be socializing because it’s during that week when he was the most irritable; then his phone rang. 

“It’s what? 4 in the fucking morning?”  He considered letting it go to voicemail, but it might be something with Harry, she’s been in and out of rehab 3 times in the past 2 months most likely because of him. He scowled as he attempted to find it before he missed the call. “Yes, hello?” he answered before the last ring in a groggy voice.  “Hello, is this John Watson?”  John sighed, “Yes, who may I ask is calling?”

_At this ungodly hour… Christ._

He was a bit snippy, but he had the right to be, “its Mike from-“  “Yeah hey Mike, its 4 am so could you call me back later?”  Mike started to fumble with his words, he could tell John was not pleased with the early morning chit chat.  “Sorry man, umm… actually it can’t wait.  I heard you were looking fro a job?  Well, I have one for ya, but the guy who’s offering… he needs you by 6.”  “Okay…by 6.  Where is this job?”  John asked getting a little annoyed.  Mike was hesitant.

_What a perfect way to start my day, just what I need thank you._

“St. Bart’s hospital…”  Mike knew John’s work history, not into specific details but enough to know John wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms by any of his previous employers.  “Yeah Mike, I got fired from there 5 months ago… and you knew that.  I doubt that they would hire me back…”  Mike’s answer was quick this time, he was sensing Johns’ frustration.  “Don’t worry about it, you have the job.  He knew you worked there before and I’m pretty sure he looked you up.”  John sighed, “Alright if you say so, well I’m going to catch another hour or so, 6? Alright, bye.”

John couldn’t get back to sleep.  He lay in bed until 5:30, then started to get ready.  He knew exactly how far away St. Bart’s’ was from his flat, and he knew exactly how long it would take for him to get there, and if he shifted he could cut out 10 minutes if he took a cab.  He packed his cloths, watch, and resume in an old drawstring bag, careful not to wrinkle them any more that he could.  He stripped down to nothing and willed himself to change.  The pain wasn’t something he could get accustom to, but he was getting to the point where the shift only took him a minute and a half.  When he first got infected, the change took hours, because the pain was so overwhelming he would pass out in the middle of it.  He soon learned to control his reactions and he could shift whenever he felt the need to. 

Those ninety seconds though, they were the worst of his life.  The pain was so unbearable, and all he could do was scream.  He felt every single one of his bones break, bend, and morph into its new position. His organs shut down and start up again in their new form; he felt his heart speed up, stop, restart and change.  That was always the worst part, he never knew if it would start up again.  It only took a fraction of a second for his heart to start up again, but it wasn’t possible.  He was a walking improbability and over the last few years he managed, well as much as anyone could under the circumstances. 

He was on all fours when it was over.  His sleek body was covered in a sandy blonde hair, much like his human hair, but with slight patches of dark blonde on his paws, head, and along his back and tail.  The bag was around his back still, which was a little surprising.  He stretched his long hind legs out, knocking over a nightstand as he did so and sighed.

_Shit, I forgot how big I get when I do that._

He was about 7 and half feet from tip to tail, but he never felt taller than he normally was which was a relatively short 5 foot 6.  He managed to get out of the flat without knocking over anything else, important, anyway.  He set off to make his way to St. Bart’s avoiding people the best he could.  He wasn’t used to going around during the day in beast form, but he knew all of the alleys and could get to the hospitals’ basement unseen. 

While he was in wolf form, he had run into many troubles and has had far too many scares of getting caught.  On his way to his new job he didn’t need another one.  “Mum! Mum! I just saw a dog! It was huge! And yellow!” John heard a little girl scream, the mother trying to shush her so she didn’t make a scene. 

_Keep calm, she must have seen you switch alleys. Keep calm_

He listened for the little girl to come running in search for him, so he booked it to the basement entrance a few yards away, starting to shift in mid stride as he got to the door. It was painful, moving and changing at the same time but he managed and stopped just in front of the door to finish.

He got inside without anyone noticing, and shut the door behind him.  John was in the morgue, he made his way to one of the bathrooms at the end of a long dimly lit hall to his left. Once he got there he locked himself in a stall, after getting dressed he pulled his watch out of the bag.  “Hmm, new record, 3 minutes to spare.”  The bathroom door opened as John stepped out of the stall.  “Hello John, make it down here okay I see.”

_I’m supposed to be down here?_

“Uh, yeah, so what am I doing in the morgue?”  John was puzzled but he had an idea of where it was heading.  Mike answered as he walked into one of the stalls, “Your new boss, he sometimes keeps himself cooped up down here for cases.”

_I guess I don’t know where this is heading._

Mike stepped out of the stall, washed up, then turned to John, “So I guess you want to meet him then?  This way.”  Mike led John out of the bathroom, back down the hall and over to a room across from where he came in.  He followed Mike and when he entered he saw the body of an older man lying across a table, and a tall, pale looking man hunched over the corpses’ chest.  John looked at the man for a moment, and as elusively as he could he sniffed the air.

 All of his senses where heightened even more so before a full moon, it was the only perk besides being able to shift whenever he wanted now. John caught a whiff of something different, it was the man leaning over the body, he smelled odd, and he even looked odd.  The man looked up at John, black curls fell in front of his strikingly beautiful light eyes.  The contrast from his dark hair to his fair skin was remarkable.   

_Wow_

John couldn’t pull his eyes away.  Mike coughed bringing John back to reality, “John, this is Sherlock.  Sherlock this is John, the doctor who worked here previously… Molly, um she’s the one who got his job.”  Sherlock’s eyes moved over John, scanning him.  He felt like he was back in the military, and out of habit started to stand straighter.  As he was doing so the beast within him was acting up, he could barely contain the warning growl forming in his throat.  A little of it escaped, not enough for Mike to hear, but Sherlock noticed.

The pale eyes flickered to John’s; meeting his gaze, a smirk played across the tall mans face.  John straightened a little more, hesitant to just let it out.  He usually didn’t practice self control anymore, he broke out of that when he was discharged, so this was somewhat challenging, the beast with a mind of its own didn’t help the situation.  “Nice to meet you Sherlock.”  John tried not to grit his teeth, he felt like the beast side of him was being challenged, and he wasn’t a fan of the sensation especially since his normal self didn’t have a reason to be so hostile.  “Likewise,” Sherlock said, in a tone that was mocking John, and he was now standing straighter than before. 

_Prick._

John coughed and cursed under his breathe the beast winning the little battle for control.  If this man was his new boss, he wouldn’t last a week without snapping.  “So…am I going to be working in the morgue?”  John had a feeling he was going to get the job, and there wasn’t any indication that he was going to be interviewed since Sherlock had supposedly read his files, so he figured he could ask questions about the job.  Sherlock responded with light sigh and looked John over once more, before resuming his inspection of the mans’ chest.

_So I don’t get the job then…alright._

“I didn’t say you didn’t get the job; don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.  And by the state of you, I presume you’ll need a place to stay?  Be at 221 B Baker Street by 4.”  Sherlock only looked up to glace at John’s reaction and John had his mouth open in astonishment.  “Umm How did you? and… no.  Thanks though, for the offer.  But I have a flat, just paid the rent actually, so I will have to decline.”  John paused hesitant to say more, but he continued anyway, “Plus, I don’t even know anything about you and you are proposing to live together… I might have to pass.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, all of them.  The truth was that he didn’t pay his rent recently; he wanted to leave the god for saken place.  But with his condition, he couldn’t risk it.  And he wasn’t really apposed to living with the stranger; they could easily get to know each other.   

“Mr. Watson, you may not know me, but I know you, well, certainly more than you think.”  Sherlock flashed John a toothy grin, and John thought he saw him wink.  He sighed, “Yeah I’m guessing you read my file.” Sherlock stopped fiddling with the corpse, “Boring.  I only read that you worked here previously. What’s the fun in knowing more through a file when I can get all of the information I need right here.”  He paused, gestured at John, looked him up and down, and then met his gaze.  “You got let go because of an anger problem that you haven’t acquired until recently.  You are ex military, doctor and…sniper. You were injured in the shoulder…left one, so you were discharged.” 

John winced as memories started to flood his brain.  Sherlock watched him intently, “Something you would rather not discuss, the memory haunts you still.  Plagues your dreams…”  John’s shoulder started to throb at the thoughts, his body started to ache and his hands that were now sweating started to twitch.

_Control.  Control.  Control.  Not.  Here._

He slowed his breathing and the pains started to subside.  Sherlock was staring, eyes fixed on John, “Interesting. Right, 4 o’clock, 221 B.”  He flashed John another smile, and then walked out.  As soon as John was sure he was gone, he turned to Mike.  “What the hell?  You told him about my injury?”  John tried to keep calm, but Mike’s face that went from satisfaction to worry, made him tone it down.  “John, I didn’t tell him a word.  That’s what he does, he’s a detective.  It’s scary how he can just look at you and figure out your life story yeah, but he was in the market for a new flat mate, and you needed a job and… John I worry about you.” 

John was calm now; he understood that Mike was only trying to help.  “It’s alright, thank you Mike I might take him up on his offer, no need to worry any longer.”  Mike mustered up a smile, shook Johns’ hand and offered him a ride home, he gladly took it. 

In the car they talked about the news and such, but not once did they talk about Sherlock.  John wanted to bring him up but by the time he worked up the courage to they were at his place. “Well, thank you Mike, for everything and I mean it.  I will let you know how things go later.”


	2. Pills

The rest of the day he didn’t get much done, he thought about cleaning up the mess he’d made that morning, but got side tracked when he wanted to learn more about Sherlock.  “Yes hello I’m John Watson the neighborhood stalker here to learn every little detail about this guy I met.”  John mumbled to himself as he typed the name into his search bar, “Damnit Sherlock what is your last name?  With a name like that though there probably aren’t many of you so…”  He hit enter and scrolled down a few pages until he found Sherlock’s web site, the Science of Deduction, and even though he wasn’t as impressed by it as he thought he would have been, it was interesting. 

Then as it got later he started to wonder why he smelled different, he had been around corpses and Mike before and he knew those scents, so it wasn’t them, and so it had to be Sherlock.  The smell wasn’t something recognizable, he had hardly noticed it as first, but it was slightly off.  John couldn’t shake the weird feeling he was getting, then he looked at the clock.  It was almost 3 and he had and hour to get to Baker Street. He would have waited to leave, but he had no clue where he was going.  So this time he had to take a cab.

The cabbie took him to the addressed, he paid the man and walked to the door, knocked twice and an older woman opened it.  “Yes?”  She glanced at John, looking him up and down to see if he was trying to sell her something, “Um Hi, I’m here to see Sherlock Hol-.”  She grinned “Oh yes, John.  So nice to meet you, Sherlock said you would be stopping by at around 4.  I’m Mrs. Hudson; he’s right up stairs dear.”

_Hmm._

John headed up the stairs following Mrs. Hudson as she led the way.  There was faint violin in the background, “Sherlock dear, you have a visitor.”  She turned back to John still smiling.  “He’ll be right out; he usually takes his time to do things if he’s playing."  John nodded his head, and she went back down stairs.  The music stopped and John heard heavy foot steps come towards his direction. The door flew open, and John was greeted with a wide grin from the soft skinned man who stood before him.  His eyes were darker than they were this morning but still pale.  “John, I see you’ve met Mrs. Hudson, she was looking forward to meeting you.”  John stepped inside and Sherlock closed the door behind him.  “So you told her about me?”

“Nothing in detail, just your name and that you would be stopping by.”  John looked away from Sherlock and took in the clutter of his new surroundings.  There was a couch that was bare but all around it were stacks of books and papers, the chair was filled with boxes and the floor was barely visible under the assortment of microscope slides, more papers and books.  John looked over at the fireplace and neatly placed on the mantel was a human skull.

_So I see there was no effort to clean up a bit… and that skull isn’t off-putting at all._

“It’s um, nice.”  Was all John could muster up to say, and Sherlock lifted an eyebrow in amusement.  “No one likes a liar Mr. Watson.”  Sherlock said in what John thought was a flirtatious tone, but with the straightest face.  John still couldn’t figure him out, and that smell from earlier in the day was amplified now.  “Who said I was lying? It’s a nice place, could use some cleaning up but it’s nice.”  Sherlock was now sitting on the couch, but a moment ago John could have sworn he was standing next to him.  “John, you aren’t like other men are you? You seem to me to be more of the _wild_ type.”  Sherlock put an emphasis on the word wild, John could tell he was hinting at something and decided to take a seat next to him.

“Wild could mean anything.  Please elaborate.” John was in surveillance mode watching Sherlock for any indication that he perceived as threatening.  “Well John, you of all people should now what I mean by wild. “ He winked, and continued, “John I understand you have a, gift.  I am still willing to have you live here, the work I do requires me to have resources at the ready, and John… I do consider you a resource.

_Okay, this is getting weird._

“A little bit about me first, I sometimes go for days not speaking in all honesty I am never like this, all this chatting, it’s rare I can assure you.  I frequently play the violin, at all hours.  I have significant dietary restrictions and if you notice that I haven’t eaten in a couple days it perfectly fine but I would appreciated it if you let me know.  The cases I do are my main source of income, and with both of us we should be able to pay for rent easily.  Any questions?” John took a moment to take it all in.

  _Uh yeah loads, but where to begin?_

“You know about my what?”  John, made a puzzled look on his face, Sherlock stared back at him, wonder in his eyes.  “John, I know about your situation.”  Sherlock sounded bored now, stating his knowledge matter-a-factly.  John was still confused because there was no way humanly possible that he could know about John’s circumstances.

Sherlock was waiting for a response, when it hit John, “Are you like me?”  John asked in all seriousness and Sherlock scoffed at the question and his face crinkled.  “Of course not.  Tell me do I smell like you? Go ahead take a whiff; I can reassure you that I don’t.”  John was taken aback by the comment, and felt another growl forming in his chest.  “Now if you don’t mind? I would like to see what I will be living with.”  Sherlock said as he stood up and gestured for John to do so as well.  John’s mouth gaped open.

 _You’ve got to be kidding me._  

“Excuse me?” John asked, and Sherlock started to look frustrated, like John was a child trying his patients. “I would like for you to shift so I know what I will be living with. Now I won’t be so polite if I must ask again.”  John felt his blood boil, he wanted to change and rip the gits’ throat out.  But he held back.

“I should really be going, this is a bit much.”  He said as calmly as he could and Sherlock was now inches away from him, “I know what you are Shifter, so I would appreciate it if you indulged me and changed.”  John wanted to storm out and forget this ever happened, but there was something about Sherlock Holmes that made him stay.  He wanted to walk away, but he started to talk, thinking he could stay but talk his way out of it. 

“It isn’t that easy.  It’s painful.”  Sherlock was a little shocked that John hadn’t denied anything.  But he let John continue, seeing what he was trying to do.  “Sure I can do it whenever I want, but it hurts like hell.  So much so that you couldn’t even fathom the pain.”  John wanted to say more but he stopped himself.

Sherlock looked rather amused, “it should take you no more than a minute by now, and I have medication to ease the pain if you would like.”  John thought about it for a moment, if the medication was strong enough it would help, a lot.  But then he might not be able to shift at all because the pain is what gets him there. 

“What medication is it that you have?  It’s got to be strong enough.”   Sherlock smirked, “Oh I assure you that it is.”  And with that Sherlock went into a room just off of the kitchen.  He came back a few minutes later with a bottle, that wasn’t labeled, of white pills, and a glass of water.  “Would it do me any good to ask what these are?”  John asked looking at the tall man who handed him the bottle.  “Take three if you want them to be more effective.”  John was hesitant. 

 _What am I doing?  Taking unlabeled drugs and changing in front of a man I just met earlier today?_  

He dismissed his thoughts, even though under any other circumstance he wouldn’t.  There was just something about Sherlock that compelled him to do whatever he had suggested.  He opened the bottle, spilled out three little white pills.  “Okay here it goes…” he took them and Sherlock began to speak again.  “They will become effective almost immediately, so please begin. 

John did as he was told, he felt a little light headed, and could feel the beast inside of him start to fade ever so slightly.  He tried to focus, and didn’t bother stripping down in front of his new acquaintance.  His mind latched on to a piece of wolf inside of him and he felt the pressure of his body start to change, but not the pain. 

_These drugs do work wonders._

The pressure started to build as the bones broke and readjusted, he heard his cloths start to tear from his body.  He felt the pressure of his insides shift and readjust,  he felt his heart stop and restart as it normally did, but it wasn’t painful, just a flutter.  When the pressure stopped, and he was sure it was over, he looked up at the even taller man staring intently down at him.  “Remarkable, the way the human body can endure such a transformation.”  John sighed, and sat down.  He glanced at the shreds of cloths around him.  

_Sure remarkable to you maybe…_

“Do you mind if I take hair samples?”  Sherlock stepped toward the larger, more dangerous John.  Putting his hand out and John barred his teeth as a no. “Touchy one I see.  Very well.  You can shift back whenever you like.  But just to warn you the drugs you took wear off in approximately three hours.”  John sighed again, he didn’t bring a change of clothes, so shifting back here was not an immediate option, and he did like not feeling the pain of the shift though.

He barked at Sherlock, who was now searching through his shreds of cloths.  Sherlock stopped, but only momentarily before he began again.  A growl escaped John’s throat, and Sherlock looked up.  “If you want the belongings you left in your pockets to go into the trash, please continue.” 

_Where is the bloody bathroom so I can shift and head home? Because there is no way I can live here._

John got up and wandered around the flat in search for the bathroom, he eventually found one in a hall way connected to the main room.  Sherlock watched him intently throughout his search and followed him once he got to the bathroom.  “You will be needing this I presume?”  He held out a dressing robe and John took it in his teeth with a groan. And Sherlock closed the door after John had entered.  He didn’t want to shift back as much as he normally did, he felt whole when he was in this form sometimes.  It wasn’t always that he felt like this, he normally hated the animal but on a rare occasion he would like it, and during this occasion he wished he would never have to go back to the real world.  Often he would sleep as the wolf when he was in these moods, and it helped until he had to work. 

He changed his mind and pawed at the door, Sherlock who John assumed was standing right there had let him out, a little astonishment in his voice, “Not ready to go back yet I see, well then.  You are welcomed to take the room upstairs.”  Sherlock looked over to the stairs at the end of the hall. And John followed his gaze.  His body on the other hand decided to go back into the main room. Sherlock followed the sandy yellow wolf back into the main room, and eyed the large beast as it made itself comfortable on the couch.

John was too big to curl up comfortably but he did manage to lay out, half of his body hung off the edge in the process. He mustered out a whimper.  “There is a bed that is perfectly big enough for you upstairs.”  Sherlock declared with agitation, John snorted; he was perfectly fine on the couch.  “If you break my couch it comes out of your rent.” 

_You’re just assuming that I live here now?_

John’s ears perked up at that comment, and he mad a disapproving grunt. “This conversation would have been easier if you had changed back in the bathroom.”  Sherlock was agitated now, and if John was in his normal form he would have been smiling, but the toothy grin that the wolf was showing worked just as well, because Sherlock had puffed out and into what John assumed was his bedroom. 

The door slammed, and then John decided that Sherlock probably wasn’t coming back out, so he grabbed a blanket that was buried in the chair under the clutter with his teeth, and made his way back to the couch.  He let the blanket fall to the floor and used his paws and muzzle to move it into a suitable position.  He then climbed on top of it, circled it a few times then laid down into a ball.  He always felt more like a domesticated dog at times with the way he behaved.  

He had been asleep for a few hours, and it was dark now, he wasn’t a heavy sleeper and to his surprise, he heard the door Sherlock had slammed earlier, open.  He felt the hesitation as it creaked slowly.  Then there were footsteps that made their way across the floor and stopped just a few feet in front of John. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is more than welcomed :)


	3. Pink

John refused to open his eyes; then he heard a sigh and a throat clearing. Then a second time, even louder.

_For fucks sake, no hope for sleep here then.  You aren’t making yourself out to be a very good flat mate Sherlock Holmes._

“Where did you get that blanket?”  John was reluctant to open his eyes and what he wasn’t expecting to see was what was presented before him.  Sherlock was carrying a large comforter, a smaller sheet, and three pillows.  John lifted his head and cocked it to the side in confusion.  Sherlock scoffed as he walked over to the couch to place his things on it.  “I’m serious where did you find that blanket?” John tilted his head toward the chair, and Sherlock, with ease grabbed and tugged at the blanket that was under John and retrieved it in one swift motion.

John barked in surprise and irritation, and got up onto his feet.  Sherlock mumbled “Bad dog,” under his breathe, and that was it.  John burst with frustration and tackled the unsuspecting man to the ground.  He heard a muffled yell, under him as they hit the floor, and then John felt the body under him shake.  He quickly lifted himself up to find Sherlock convulsing with laughter. 

_Christ you scared me!_

Sherlock looked up to see the expression on John’s rapidly changing face.  John was in fact changing, still on top of Sherlock.  Sherlock’s eyes widened realizing what was happening, but he didn’t dare move.  John didn’t know what was happening, the drugs were still present in his system but not enough, he felt the pressure and the pain, and he yelped and tried to hold in his screams as his body started to shift back.  Then a draft of cold air hit his now naked body.  “John…” Sherlock whispered, not taking his eyes from John’s face, John looked down, “shit!”

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

He quickly hopped of Sherlock, grabbed the blanket that was by his side, and covered himself.  “I… I don’t know what just happened…” he began and Sherlock stopped him, “Your human self over powered your mind for a split second, you were afraid for my well being.  And your brain interpreted that changing form would be the most logical thing to do.” 

“I’m so sorry, I will just uh… I will just go.”  Sherlock stood, “Nonsense, there is no point in leaving, it’s almost twelve o’clock.  I have a spare change of cloths for you to use, unless you want to go back to having fur.”  John wanted to go back to his own place and sleep off the weird and horribly humiliating events from the day, but there was a part of him that wanted to stay.  “Twelve o’clock isn’t late; I can probably find a cab.” 

“I don’t know what it is about me, or this place that makes you want to leave so quickly.  Since you arrived, you have wanted to leave.  I saw it on your face the moment you walked in.”  Sherlock was stumped.  He never got stumped, but there was something about John Watson that made him stand out from others.  John was actually interesting, to Sherlock, every part of him got Sherlock thinking, sometimes things he hasn’t thought about in a very long time.

“You know that thinking you do is brilliant, but you can be a prick.  Just tone it down a bit will you?  I barely know you and you’ve already seen me naked…”  John eased up on Sherlock; he knew he was going to be touchy, so he managed to keep his temper in check.  But John did start to fidget; it had been awhile since he shifted twice in one day.  It started to take its toll.

The beast inside of him was edging to get out again, clawing its way up to the center of John’s mind pushing its way free.  It was so close to a full moon, and it had already been out twice today.  “Do you think I could get more of the pills you gave me earlier?”  John asked, a little ashamed.  Sherlock gave him a mischievous look, “Want to shift so soon I see. The wild side wants to come out?”  John tried to keep his face stern.  “It’s just that it’s so close to a full moon, I don’t normally do this.”  Sherlock looked at him, with another annoyed face, “Of course you don’t.  It would be too much for your body to handle.  Your pain threshold could never be high enough.”  Sherlock went to the kitchen table to grab the bottle he had left out.

John took three more, and with no need to disrobe, he let the wolf take over with ease.  Without the pain interfering with the shift, he was able to do it much more quickly this time, but also taking in account the circumstance. Within thirty seconds he was on all fours again, thankful he didn’t have to speak to Sherlock the rest of the night.

_Smooth move, all of the talking is being reserved for the morning, when you will most likely be convinced staying here is a good option..._

John looked up to see the interest written all over Sherlock’s face.  John could tell that he enjoyed watching the transformation but his thoughts on feeling it were questionable.  “Would you like to go for a walk?  I have some things I wish to discuss with you.”  John had to sit down at that to show his immediate dislike, and he was a little dumbfounded as well.  He shook his large head in disagreement.

“If you are afraid of being seen, I can assure you that it won’t be a problem.  It’s getting late, and in the dark people would think that I am just walking a larger dog.”  John refused to move even though a walk would do him good right about now.  “You don’t have to wear a lead if you just stay close.” 

_I wouldn’t wear one of those damned things anyway!_

John shot him a look and bared his teeth; Sherlock just proceeded to the door, put on his jacket and walked out.  Assuming John would follow.  And John did, his muscular body shot up and he made his way down the stairs after Sherlock who had already made it outside and down the street a little ways. 

_What did you do? Sprint out here?_

John caught up with him and kept a steady pace and a reasonable distance away by Sherlock’s right side. They walked in silence for a good thirty minutes before Sherlock spoke.  “I would like you to work with me.  You possess some very sought after skills and they would be very useful to me and my line of work.  You would live with me but only for convenience and nothing more, you can say no but if I were in your situation I would not pass this job opportunity up.” 

 John sighed and looked up at the tall pale man. He nodded his larger head in agreement and Sherlock cracked a smile.  “Very good, now there is one other thing I would like to address.”  John paused and sat on the cold cement sidewalk.  “We could go back if you would prefer to talk there?”  Sherlock suggested sensing John’s need for verbal input. 

_I do want to walk but speaking would be nice.  You’re probably going to tell me you’re some kind of alien hybrid from the planet mars too, aren’t you?_

John started to head back and out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn that he saw Sherlock smirk once again after he had made a mental comment.  But John dismissed it again and continued to stay a good distance away from Sherlock but still stay by his side.  “John, there is a late night walker and her dog coming around the corner.” 

John quickly shuffled closer to Sherlock so it seemed that he was being walked, and a moment later a young looking girl with auburn hair tied in a loose pony, dressed in an all pink jogging suit turned the corner with a white standard poodle held by a lead closely to her side.  The poodle locked eyes with John for only a split second before quickly shrinking to the ground in a submissive posture with its ears back and tail between its legs. 

The young girl looked down at her now frightened poodle and franticly looked for the cause of its sudden distress. Then she locked eyes on John’s massive looking body in disbelief.  She continued to head towards Sherlock and John but at a much slower pace.  Her poodle was whimpering and  
whining, desperate to leave.  But the young girl was now fixed on Sherlock, oblivious to her dog and John; she walked towards Sherlock in awe.

“John you must not make any sudden movements.”  Sherlock said in a low voice as the girl approached them.  John grunted in agreement.  The girl stopped in front of Sherlock, her dog cowering behind her. “Hello, I just saw your dog and wow is she gorgeous.  Her coat is beautiful; can I ask what groomer you go to?”  The young girl asked Sherlock, never taking her eyes off of him.

 _Girl? Do I look like a girl to you?!_  

Sherlock could feel John’s agitation rising, he decided to appease the girl and John by answering her and making it short and quick.  “Thank you, I groom HIM.  Now if you don’t mind we really must be going.”  He tried to be as calm and polite as possible, and the girl just smiled still entranced by Sherlock.  John was growing more annoyed by the cowering poodle behind her and the animal inside of him decided that it had had enough.

John’s hind legs twitched, his large ears went back, he barred his enormous white canines and a low growl had begun to escape from his chest.  The girl broke away from Sherlock’s gaze, now fully aware what she was facing she began to shake.  John stood his ground locking eyes with her and then the dog behind her. 

Sherlock quickly stepped in front of John, making the girl focus on him once more.  “It’s getting late, and you and your pup really should be getting home.”  Sherlock said in a smooth voice.  “Yes it is getting late, I should head home,” She repeated.   “What you saw tonight was just a stranger walking his golden retriever.  You didn’t stop to chat, you just kept walking, finishing your workout before a long day at the office tomorrow.”  John looked up at Sherlock, filled with curiosity and confusion; he nudged the back of Sherlock’s leg.  The girl repeated back what he had said, passed both of them and continued on her walk; the poodle quickly moved in front of her as far away from John as possible before being comfortable with the distance between them and relaxing.

_What the hell was that all about?_

Sherlock looked back at him, but didn’t say a word.  John followed Sherlock more closely this time, but once they were close enough to the flat he bolted to the door, pushed it open with one of his large paws and sprinted up the stairs. When he reached the cluttered living room he was surprised to see Sherlock right behind him closing the door. 

“There should be enough medication in your system for you to change back without any trouble.”  Sherlock stated as he took of his jacket.  John didn’t want to change back in front of him again so he took one of the blankets that was still on the couch where Sherlock had left them in his mouth and headed for the bathroom.  “I’ve already seen you naked, what’s the harm in seeing one more time?” He called to John.

_Once is more than enough considering…_

John shifted in the hall, the pressure more intense as the medication grew weaker.  When he was done he wrapped the rather large blanket around his sore shivering body, and made his way to the main room near the kitchen.  “Have you ever heard of heating?  This place is freezing!”  John shouted to Sherlock, who was no longer in sight. 

A moment later Sherlock emerged from his bedroom carrying a set of cloths.  “I thought you might want to get dressed.”  He handed John an old pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, and John slipped them on while still managing to be wrapped in the blanket.  “Thanks, so uh, what happened back there with that girl?”  Sherlock moved in the blink if an eye, he was now seated on the couch.  John turned to find him gesturing for him to join Sherlock. 

“How did you?” John was in wonder, and he made his way over to the couch.  “What have you worked out about me John?”  John pondered at the question, and he made a mental list of Sherlock’s differences. 

_That you’re a bastard, and remarkably good looking… if I were into that sort of thing…_

Sherlock tried to hold back a smile, and John noticed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting one chapter approximately every Monday, now that school has started I am left with less time to work on this and many of the other stories I have going.  
> by the way I love feedback positive or negative so just let me know what you think :D


	4. Alergător de Noapte

“Are you some kind of psychic or something?  It seems that every time I make a mental comment you know exactly what I’m thinking.”  Sherlock was grinning, “You could say I’m something like that I suppose.  But to be honest I’m more deadly than some petty mind reader.”

_So a mind reading hybrid alien then._

“I thought you would be much cleverer than that Mr. Watson.  Please at least make an effort.”  Sherlock was getting impatient, John could sense it.  “Honestly I don’t know what you want me to say…”  Sherlock took in a deep breath to calm himself.  “What have you noticed about me? Use the skills that I hired you for.”  John thought about the day for a moment.  “You smell different; it isn’t a pungent smell, well when you’re in public anyway, but its there.  You also have those pale eyes that seem to change.”  Sherlock’s grin was back, “Yes do go on, you have gotten some of the tougher traits out of the way.”  John contemplated some more, “When I uh, your skin was, um…”  John looked at Sherlock, and there was amusement in the now even darker eyes. “My skin was what John?”  John felt heat rise to his cheeks.

_You sodding prick. You now exactly what I’m trying to say._

“Please continue John.”  Sherlock stated with a smile.  “You’re urm, you know… cold.  But it’s probably just because you keep the heat off.”  Sherlock frowned.  “Guess again John.”  John was puzzled, sure his condition was unusual but he couldn’t imagine Sherlock being a monster of any kind as well.  “Do you have an illness like mine?”  Sherlock looked offended, “Please John, an illness?  Is that really what you call it?”

“Well it is like an illness isn’t it?  Just one that can’t be cured.”  Sherlock seemed agitated; it was written all over his face.  “John you have a gift, one that should be looked at with gratitude. With the right medications the pain can be controlled, so much so that you could shift throughout the day as much as you please.”  John was a little taken back by Sherlock’s passion. 

“Before you I had to live with the pain, I would only be able to let the beast out when it got to dangerous to be around people.  Even then I wouldn’t want to change.  I don’t see this as a gift I see it as a curse.”  Sherlock moved a little closer to John, in attempts to comfort him.  “John it’s alright. I failed to understand how you felt about it.”  John looked at the pale man, they made eye contact and John could see that Sherlock’s eyes had gone from a stunning pale blue earlier to completely black now.  He jumped back out of surprise and fear.

“Your….Your eyes… they’re black…”  Sherlock closed his eyes, and took a pause.  “John I am what’s called an alergător de noapte in Romanian, and it roughly translates to night runner.  In your time I’m known as a vampire.”  John’s jaw dropped.  “You’ve got to be shitting me… no there’s no way.  Sure I can shift into some wolf thing but vampires don’t exist.  You must have anemia, which would cause paleness, and some peoples eyes change with their mood.  A poor circulatory system would explain why you’re cold.”

_See medical answer for everything._

“Not everything John.”  John was almost completely off the couch now, and his body started to shake.  “Control.  Control.  Control.”  John tried to slow his breathing but he was loosing it.  “John it’s alright try to stay calm, I know it’s a lot to take in.”  Sherlock tried to help, but the animal was making its way out and all he could do was watch John change.

“John I’m sorry.  I didn’t know you would react this way.  I assumed that because you are what you are you would be more accepting to what I-“  Sherlock was cut of by John’s attempts to hold back a scream.  Sherlock was frantic now, “But there should still be medication in your system.   You shouldn’t be feeling any pain.”  But John was feeling pain, there was still pressure and not as much pain as he normally endured but the pain was there, and it was agonizing.

Shreds of cloths were strewn over the floor, the couch had giant claw marks from where John had shifted, and Sherlock sat completely still on one side of it.  He now faced a pissed off John and although Sherlock could easily take him, he didn’t want to.  “John please shift back so we can talk” Sherlock pleaded.

_I shouldn’t have shifted.  I tried to keep myself together.  It’s hard you know… jumping into a world like this, where things like me live.  I was just getting used to my situation after all this time.  It’s all overwhelming…_

Sherlock hesitated for a moment he wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was. So he slowly stood up from the couch and moved closer to John, he reached out.  John responded quickly with a flash of his teeth and a hasty jerk away.

_I believe you...  I just… I just overreacted is all._

“It is a lot to take in.  Do you want me to give you some space?”  Sherlock didn’t look at him, he just stood there, ready to head to his room.

_No.  I would like it if you stayed here… if you don’t mind.  And um I could use more of those pain killers in a bit...  If I decide to shift back._

“If you decide to shift back?  You like it don’t you?  Being in that form.”  Sherlock sat on the floor next to John, who had lain down and rested his head on his paws that were sprawled in front of him.  John huffed and yawned.

_I’m never in it for very long.  I don’t like shifting, so I only do when I have to.  But I do like it.  I hate to say it but,  I feel… complete when I’m the beast.  Almost like I was meant to have this burden._

Sherlock looked at John, with what appeared to be sadness in his black eyes.  “John I am truly sorry that you see a part of you as a burden.  But the way that you look when you are in your human form is.. distracting.  You look lost, like you’re missing something, a piece of yourself.  That’s what the wolf does for you; it finishes your circuit.”

John looked up at the dark eyes that were staring at him.  The black curls falling on his face with such elegance.  John really looked at Sherlock’s face now, he took in every detail.  There were no wrinkles to be seen, his skin was perfect, he was flawless.   


	5. Trust Issues

_You look… and your smell...  What is that?_

Sherlock grinned; he thought he was in the clear for showing as much compassion as he did.  Only once has he ever showed so much emotion and that was nearly a century ago.  “Well thank you John, if you would just give me a moment, I have to go out for a bit.” John’s hairy muzzle dropped in astonishment. 

_But, where are you going? Should I change back, maybe come with you?  Or is it alergător de noapte business?_

Sherlock stepped back from John, “Yes it is now you can stay here, you don’t have to shift I will only be a moment.”  With that Sherlock was gone, the door left ajar and a draft creeping into the already cold flat.  John nudged the door closed with his nose, and then went to the torn couch; he sat in front of it and stared at the gashes he had made.

_What am I doing? I can’t live like this.  I want to just dive in, no questions asked.  I want to be happy for once… Pull yourself together John!  This will work, he’s tolerable, and you have a job again.  You can be normal again._

John stopped mid thought, and froze.  He heard movement outside the door then was up and in front of it, ears down and the hair on his back upright.   A warning growl escaped his chest, his heart beating hard enough to burst through onto the floor.  Standing a few feet away, he heard Mrs. Hudson in her flat below, chatting to herself with the telly on.  Then he heard a creak on the stairs again.  John backed up, and then the door flew open, Sherlock standing in the entrance with blood on his face and shirt. 

“You truly feel that way?”  Sherlock looked hurt, his eyes now a vivid light blue, showed anguish. “A part of you doesn’t want this, I understand.  But, you can thrive here John; there is nothing for you to worry about.”  Every cell in Sherlock’s body wanted John to stay, but Sherlock didn’t know why.  John was just another person, uninteresting and another source of inevitable betrayal. 

_I want to believe you, I do.  The kindness that you have tried to show me and the feeling that I’m guessing no one ever sees is what I want to have.  But there is a nagging in my mind that I can’t just dismiss._

Sherlock moved closer to the retreating wolf, “You can tell me John, I will listen, I can promise you that.”  Sincerity was written all over his blood stained face, John could read Sherlock like a book, something he has never been able to do to others before, it was even more miraculous because of the amount of time they had known each other in was so short.  They shared a bond whether either of them noticed or not, it was there.  Sherlock began to open up to John, in the slightest ways, but it was a start. 

_I can’t that’s the thing... I want to, but I can’t.  I want so much for us to be friends Sherlock, I want to live as normal as possible, to be able to have a steady job, a nice bed to come home to, a mate to have a pint with.  I haven’t had any of that since my…accident… since this CURSE overtook me._

John really looked at Sherlock now, he smelled the blood when Sherlock came in, but didn’t really look at him.  John backed up even more, his hind legs hitting the side of the arm chair. 

_Whose blood is that Sherlock?_

John sniffed the air, his nostrils filled with the air around him; he could practically taste the wet copper aroma.  Then it hit him, very faint was a smell that seemed very familiar.  It was hardly noticeable if he hadn’t smelled it earlier. 

_You… you went out and found her didn’t you? That poor girl.  What did you do to her?_

Sherlock stared at the beast before him, astonishment on his face.  “John who are you talking about?”  He wanted to see how much he could get out of John, he wanted to test his skills.

 _That girl, the one in the pink with the dog; the one on the walk earlier.  You went out found her and killed her didn’t you?_  

John’s body was shaking, but not in the way he did if he was going to shift, no he was shaking out of fear.  Sherlock saw this, and stepped back from John in attempts to calm him down, show John that he wouldn’t hurt him.  He gave up on the attempts to see how fine tuned Johns skills were.  “John I know that this looks bad, but I had to feed.  I didn’t want to risk hurting Mrs. Hudson; or you…”

John tried to will his body to stop shaking, it worked a little, but his was still frightened, and the wolf went in to self defense mode.  John bared his teeth at Sherlock, his ears went flat on his head and the hairs all over his body started to rise again. 

_You never answered my question Sherlock.  Did you kill her?_

Sherlock backed up more, his back hit the door.  “John, if you come any closer you will get hurt.  I am not saying this as a threat but more as a caution.”  Sherlock’s face lost its pink flush it gained after he had fed and turned pale, his mouth opened and his canine teeth elongated, a hiss escaped his throat. John continued to stand his ground.

_Answer the question Sherlock, please.  I need to know what I’m getting into._

Sherlock sneered, “Yes she is dead, and I left her mangled body in an alley not two blocks from here.  I drained her and it was thrilling, her gurgled scream as I bit down on her flawless neck. The surprise in her eyes that I could hurt her, as if I was an angel that had done her wrong. ” Sherlock was grinning now as he relived the kill he had made not ten minutes ago. 

_You truly are a monster.  Sherlock can you hear yourself right now?_

John was disgusted, there were no other words that he could say to Sherlock, he had seen the monster that dwelled inside the charming, caring man.  He made a move for the door, Sherlock still stood in front of it, but upon seeing that John was heading towards him he lunged.

Sherlock grabbed ahold of John by the neck, and then turned his body so he was on top of the large wolf.  “John you can’t leave.  I need you here, I need your help.”

John froze; he was shaking his large head, “John you need to stay.  I need you to stay.  I can’t be this…” He gestured to himself with his free arm, “ this thing anymore.”  He loosened his grip around John’s neck; John wriggled free and stood by the door.

_I didn’t know this was what I was getting into Sherlock; I thought that you were under control.  You sure did seem like it earlier today. How do I know what your like anyway we’ve only know each other for a day._

John was ready to leave when he realized he was still the wolf.  “You have no need to worry about me killing you for blood John, the only reason that I would… is if I get agitated… and and…you have nothing to worry about.  Just lock me in my room for a few days and it will all blow over.” 

_Nothing to worry about, alright.  You know I don’t believe you so why try. Hmm?  Where are the pills? We need to talk face to face._

Sherlock walked with his front facing John, in case he tried anything.  He grabbed the pills and placed them in front of the wolf.  John picked them up resting them in his mouth, he then made his way to the bathroom.  Once inside the cramped space he dropped the pill bottle out of his mouth and placed one of his large paws on the opening and applied pressure.  The cap popped off and he licked up 4 pills. 

After a few moments, he willed himself to shift.  The pills had kicked in and the momentary pressure ceased.  He was standing in the bathroom, now with more room, shaking.  He grabbed a dress robe that was hung on the door and wrapped himself up.  He went into the living room to find Sherlock cleaned up and sitting on the couch waiting for John to return.

“Why did you kill her?”  John asked his voice a little shaky.  Sherlock patted the seat next to him, wanting John to sit by his side.  John walked over to the chair and sat there instead.  “I loose control John. It’s in my DNA to kill; it isn’t like I have a choice.”  John scoffed at the comment. “You do have a choice Sherlock; you could have let her live.  You didn’t have to go and fucking kill her!” 

“I’m an addict John! I can’t just… I need you to help me. I don’t want you to see me as a monster.  I want you to be able to feel normal like you said. You can trust me.” John didn’t know what to think anymore.  Not even forty-eight hours ago he was sitting in his crappy flat dreaming of a better, more normal life.  This was the furthest from normal. 

“We barely no each other.  Hell, I’ve only officially been your flat-mate for less than seven hours.  How do I know you aren’t tricking me, or using your mesmerizing thing like you did with the girl on the walk?”  John had a point; there was no way for him to know Sherlock wasn’t tricking him.  But Sherlock’s unexplainable feelings that he felt towards John would prevent him from doing that. 

“I just need some sleep.  It’s been a very long day.  So since I am living here, even momentarily, I’m heading to me room.  We will talk about all of this in the morning.”  John got up and went to the stairs at the end of the hall way.  Sherlock sat on the couch listening to him shut his door, walk over to his bed and plop.

“Good night John.”       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I am not sure where I'm heading with this story. I have a plot in mind, but it has taken quite a bit to get to it. Feedback is more than welcomed at this point. :)


	6. Crime Scene Troubles

John didn’t sleep much that night; for the majority of it he laid in the bed and stared at the celling.  Thinking about the day and its outcomes. “What the fuck am I doing?  He killed a woman and I’m… I’m laying here in the bed he provided me with, not doing a damn thing!”  He sighed, and then shut his eyes.  As he lay in the unfamiliar bed he pictured the girl in pink, her face when she first saw John popped in his mind.  That terror is the same terror he pictured she expressed when she was attacked by Sherlock.

His eyes flew open; he gasped for breath, and jerked up to a sitting position.  His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness around him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow by the door that didn’t belong. “Sherlock. You can come out.”  Sherlock stepped out of the shadows, “You had a nightmare?  About me.”

John let out a labored breath, his body shook.  Side effects from changing all day.  “I uh… no it wasn’t about you.” Sherlock moved closer, “Yes it was John. Please do not lie to me.”  John got annoyed and quite angry at Sherlock, “I have a right to lie to you.  I barely know you, but what I do know is that you murdered a young innocent girl. And I think it would be best if you left me alone for now.” 

Sherlock turned and left the room without another word, shutting the door forcefully behind him.  “That’s it; tomorrow you get up and leave.  Becoming an accomplice to murder isn’t going to happen.”  He shut his eyes again, and drifted into a very light sleep, his body still slightly shaking.

He woke up later than he had expected, the sun was up and the television was blasting, and the smell of burnt hair was strong enough to make its way up to his room.  “What the hell?” he got up to find a pair of clothes folded on the dresser across from the bed.  He slipped on the long pair of trousers and tighter fitting shirt, and headed down stairs. 

He wanted to leave without notice, but Sherlock was in the living room standing by the dinning room table facing the door.  So leaving without him noticing was out of the question.  “Good afternoon John.”  Sherlock said flatly, focusing on his work at the table.  “Urm, hey.  I’m ah going to head out.”  Sherlock looked up momentarily and smirked at the fitting of the cloths he provided John with.  “We are out of milk and tea” Sherlock stated.  “You, you mean you’re out.  I’m leaving.”  John said under his breath, as he headed for the door.  “John?” John turned to find Sherlock standing before him; he jumped back out of surprise.  “Yes Sherlock?”  Sherlock looked into John, his eyes focusing on John’s. John blinked, “What…what are you doing? That glare thing that got that girl killed I’m guessing? Knock it OFF!” Sherlock stepped back, surprised.

“It didn’t work…” Sherlock mumbled.  “Damn right it didn’t work! You want me to stay? Because it doesn’t look like it.  Goodbye Sherlock.”  Sherlock stood still, back erect, waiting for the slam in his face.  But he never received it.  John stood by the door, his hand on the knob: “I will… I will maybe be back. After the full moon; it isn’t that far off.  I just need some time to think…alone.”  Sherlock nodded.  And John opened the door and left. 

“He said he will be back.  Just prove yourself.  You can go a few days without it just to show him you can. It will work this time.”  Sherlock mumbled to himself as he got back to his experiment.  For hours he focused on his experiment, real wolf hair compared to werewolf hair.  He tested both samples against numerous conditions.  This kept him busy until he ran out of hair, then he was stuck with his thoughts once again.  He went to the kitchen, and paced.  Every thought that popped into his mind, would be linked to blood. 

He began to hum tunes that his mother used to sing to him when he was a child, his pitch off, he didn’t do this for very long.  When he thought of his mother, he thought of his brother, and when he thought of Mycroft, he would think of the killing spree he went on after he turned. That led to more blood thoughts.  He pulled out his phone from his pocket and tapped out a quick message to one of the only contacts he possessed.  Within seconds he got a reply containing an address. 

Sherlock grabbed his coat, and left the flat in a dash.  The address was only a few blocks away, and as he made his way closer to his destination he realized exactly where he was heading.  He slowed his pace, to prolong getting there, but when he did he saw the police tape.  “Ah Sherlock nice of you to join us.  Go ahead take a look, tell me what you think.”  The grey haired man said as he walked over to Sherlock.  “Lestrade, I cannot work this one, I need a different case.  I was sure I was specific in the text.  No bodies.” 

The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “Who said there was a body?”  Sherlock looked at him, “There isn’t a body?”  He looked around Lestrade, “No I suppose that there isn’t.  Well then,  
carry on.”  Sherlock lifted the tape and made his way to the apparent crime scene.  He glanced at a man crouched over a stain, picking at it with tweezers. “The freak is here!”  The man on the ground yelled.  “Anderson, I see you’re on your knees again. Quit picking at it! You’ll ruin the evidence.”

The man stood up and faced Sherlock, anger plainly written on his face.  “Anderson! Do as the man says will you?  Go and do something else.”  Lestrade yelled walking up to Sherlock.  Sherlock smirked, “It seems that there was an altercation of some sort.  The cans over there have been bumped into…” He paused collecting himself, the dried metallic smell filled his body, he began to shake, but not enough for Lestrade to notice. “The cans have been moved, see the dirt outline?  Now over here there is blood that has been-“Sherlock cut himself off, collecting himself once more.  Lestrade stared at him, confusion on his face, “Everything alright there Sherlock?” 

Sherlock looked back at the silver haired man, “Yes.  I just need a moment.  I haven’t had my coffee this morning.”  He said flatly, a small fake smile of reassurance on his pale face.  Lestrade nodded, and went back to his crime scene, over to Anderson crouched over more evidence.  “Hey Sherlock, can you come here for a moment?  There’s some hair over here, dark, and looks a bit curly. It’s a sizable chunk too.”  Sherlock froze.  He remembered the fight that he and the girl had; she had grabbed his head when he bit her neck, and must have taken some of his hair with her.

“Have one of the techs bag it.”  Lestrade said to a nearby officer.  Then in came a small girl, with gloves and a bag, she bent down and picked up the hair, placed it in the bag and walked by Sherlock; mesmerized, not taking her eyes off him as she passed.  “You have quite the way with the ladies Sherlock and you don’t even do anything.  They just look at you, why don’t you go talk to her.  I think you’re done here anyway.”  Lestrade motioned for Sherlock to go and talk with her.  “No.  I am focused on my work.”  He said staring at the crime scene, picking at everything he saw.  All of the details missed the night before, he cataloged in his mind.  He picked up on the small splatters of blood left on the wall of the building, next to the knocked over garbage cans.

“Sherlock, I will let you know if anything comes up.  Go on, head home.”  Lestrade called to Sherlock, who was taking in the crime scene in more detail, but distracted by Lestrade’s comment.  Sherlock looked up, and acknowledged the Detective Inspector, and headed in the direction of his flat, reminding himself to go back later and find out where the body had gone. 

On his walk back to his flat he picked up on a sent, that was newer, and out of place.  A scent that was not present on his walk earlier.  He catalogued it, but did not peruse it, and went about his business in returning home.  As he got closer and closer to Baker Street, the aroma got stronger.  When he finally reached the front door, it was as if he walked into a thick cloud of it.  He recognized the smell now, and raced up to his flat, the door wide open he encountered a figure making themselves at home, resting comfortably in the chair in the front room reading the mornings paper.


	7. Authoritative Figure

“Get out.”  Sherlock said not looking at the older man, but making his way to the kitchen.  “Oh brother, it is nice to see you too.  I’m doing quite well, thank you for asking.”  Mycroft said, mockingly, but with a hint of sincerity that was barely noticeable in his tone, but Sherlock picked up on it.  “Why are you here?”  Sherlock asked flatly, knowing all to well that his brother wasn’t leaving any time soon.

“I can’t stop by and visit my dear younger brother?”  Mycroft was pushing his limits with Sherlock’s patience.  He set the paper down, and stood up, resting on his umbrella, he flashed a toothy grin at his younger brother.  “I have been checking up on you for some time now, but why is it that all of a sudden you’re getting sloppy and acting… shall I say, odd?” Mycroft paused and sighed, “Oh, brother you are acting out a character.  Shape up.”

Sherlock just stared at the man before him.  “How do you mean out of character?”  He asked with no interest, just out of courtesy to be part of the conversation.  Mycroft shifted his weight, “The dog you have invited to live with you?  Or maybe it’s the body you left in the alley…”  Sherlock held his ground, “You have no reason to poking in my business Mycroft, now I suggest you leave.”  

“I can’t leave just yet, I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me, what possessed you to want to share a flat with a Lycan.  And why I had to clean up after you, again.”  Mycroft sat back in the chair, showing Sherlock how persistent he was going to be.  “It’s none of your business.”  Sherlock hissed and in a split second Mycroft appeared in front of Sherlock, “It is my business if I have to clean up after you,” he hissed back. 

“The girl. What did you do with her?”  Sherlock asked, dreading the worst, and trying to take the subject off of John.  “She turned.  We took care of it.”  Mycroft said, heading back to the chair.  “No that isn’t possible; I made sure that she wouldn’t.”  Sherlock murmured, and Mycroft looked back at him, he scoffed at the comment.  “You made sure?  Hmm, it didn’t seem like you made sure.  She wasn’t dead when you left her Sherlock.  But you were too careless to notice that.  You also forgot to check if any witnesses were present?  That is how the police found out about your little crime scene.  But don’t worry we took care of that too, just not soon enough.”

“No, she was dead.”  Sherlock said to himself, shaking his head in denial.  Mycroft felt sorry for his brother, but tried not to show it.  “You really are loosing it Sherlock.  I suggest you pull yourself together, before we have a repeat of the fiasco in Bristol during your riotous years.”  Sherlock grimaced, “Leave Mycroft.”  The older gentleman stopped pushing his luck and decided to do what was asked of him.  “Alright Sherlock, I will leave, I would like for you to get ahold of me sometime.  We have many things to talk about.” 

Mycroft was out the door in a blur; after his brother had left he shut the door with some force, and then threw himself on the couch.  “You can do this.  Compose yourself.  She was dead, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied to you.”  Sherlock took some comfort in his self reassurance, but not enough.  It had been a day without blood and a day without John.  He already began to feel empty and irritable.  He sat himself up and searched for his laptop.  Once on, he decided to search why he was feeling the way he was about John.  The first words that came to his mind he typed in the search bar. 

_This is just to keep busy, nothing of meaning…just wasting time._

He thought to himself as he clicked the first link.  In was a definition page, and as he scanned over the words his mind began to wander, picking up on the first sentence: “A soul mate is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity.”  Rereading it, over and over, thinking of John, how it doesn’t apply to him.  He is only a friend, and that was stretching it.  “He is nothing more than an interesting, perplexing man you’ve only just met.  Nothing more. The soul mate concept is not scientifically based, and spirituality does not hold credibility to what facts prove. Plus you are focused on your work any way, no time for distracting relationships. ” 

He shut his laptop, to caught up in his thoughts to continue.  His mind raced to the girl again.  He was sure that she was dead, he had drained her, and there was no possible way that his blood could have gotten anywhere near her; so he concluded that Mycroft was lying to him, like he had done on numerous occasions.  Claiming it was for his own good.  Sherlock had thought that Mycroft was just getting back at him for not cleaning up his mess.  So he pushed the girl out of his mind, and left it at that his brother just cleaned up after him by disposing of the body.   His mind went back to John yet again.  The full moon was two days away, he told himself he could stay under control for a few more days, he could control himself enough to not rip out an persons throat in that time.     

~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~     ~~~~

John was back at his old flat, shaking, itching to turn. He slept most of the day away, and when he woke up, all he could think about was running.  “Damnit.  I need to get out tonight.”  He said to himself as he stepped out of bed and stretched.  He started to think of Sherlock, he actually missed him and couldn’t wonder why since he hadn’t know him that long, and what he did know about him was unappealing and horrifying.   

_You just miss the idea of having a flat mate again, the idea of being normal.  He isn’t good to be around._

He thought to himself as he headed to his kitchen to make some lunch.  He glanced at the clock, “Shit. Is that really what time it is?”  He skipped the lunch and started to make supper, since it was nearly seven.  He put a pot on and then heard a knock on his door.  “Coming!” he yelled as he turned on the flame. 

He opened the door to find an older gentleman presented before him.  Dressed in an expensive looking suit, and holding an umbrella in one hand, the man looked at John, amusement on his face.  “Can I help you?”  John asked, looking over the man again.  “Yes you may.  John is it?  Yes I am here on behalf of Sherlock Holmes.”  John wasn’t surprised, he assumed that the man was his lawyer, or apart of the police department, but higher in command judging by the suit.  “May I come in?”  The man asked as politely as possible, John then gestured for him to come in, but the man stood in the same spot, “Yeah come in,” he said.

_Vampire…_

The man went to John’s front room and made himself comfortable on one of his chairs.  John followed and sat across from him in another arm chair.  “So you are friends with Sherlock?”  The man asked, getting down to the reason for his visit.  “I wouldn’t say friends but yeah I know him, um may I ask what this is about?”  The older man smiled, “Ah yes, excuse me, my name is Mycroft Holmes.  Sherlock has gotten himself into a bit of trouble.”  John sat up straighter; he sniffed the air, looking for any traces of smells similar to Sherlock’s. 

John looked at Mycroft and saw that his skin was pale, but no other signs suggested that he was like Sherlock, he smelled almost normal and that was the only difference he could really find.  “I am what you think I am John, now please; let’s get back to the discussion at hand.  Sherlock has been clumsy, and a mistake like the one he made can be fatal.  Now I don’t want any harm to come to my brother, and he is quite taken with you.  So I ask you if you can keep an eye on him for me.” 

John didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t want to see Sherlock just yet, let alone spy on him for his creepy brother.  “I uh, don’t think that that’s such a good idea.  I honestly don’t want anything to do with him right now.”  Mycroft smiled, “You know what he is, and you know what he did.  It’s understandable that you refuse to be near him.  That is how it should be.”  John didn’t know where this was heading, “so do you want me to spy on him or no?”  Mycroft dropped the smile, “I need you to spy on him whether I like it or not.  He needs to be watched after his little stunt last night.”  John went white, “You know about the girl?”  Mycroft looked at John, “Of course I know, I do keep tabs on him, just not enough apparently.”  John stood up, “I think I can help, I don’t want to and I don’t trust you or him, but I know what to do.”  Mycroft flashed a sly smile, “Thank you John.  Oh and there’s one more thing I need you to do.”  John looked at him, loosing patience, “Yes?”

_Come on get on with it…_

“I will let your rude impatience slide just this once dog.  Now, I need you to kill the girl he turned; if she shows up that is.  We let her go, out of curiosity.  Just to see what she might do, if presented with the information on where her sire is.  If you see her, do not hesitate to kill her because if given the opportunity she will kill you first, and trust me when I say it would not be pleasant.”  John shook his head in agreement; “Yeah sure…” He was vacant, hollowed out by what he had heard.  To him Sherlock turning the poor girl was worse than death, why anyone would force a long lonely life onto someone else was cruel in his opinion. 

_Christ Sherlock…_

“What was that John?”  Mycroft asked as he lifted himself from the chair, eager to leave.  John remembered the mind reading thing, “Nothing. Just thinking.”  He said blankly.  Noticing his guest getting uncomfortable he walked Mycroft to the door, “I would like for you to start tomorrow, then from there continue to stay with him.  As I can not have eyes on him twenty four hours a day when he’s cooped up in that flat of his, although with you I can.”  John opened the door for him, “Tomorrow, or any day the rest of the week is no good.  I could start next week though.”  Mycroft wouldn’t have it; he put a hand in Johns face, “Tomorrow.”  He said as he turned to walk out, over his shoulder he called: “I will be seeing you around Mr. Watson.” John shut the door fast, with a little force.

“Shit.  Shit. FUCK!”


	8. A Little White Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in a while, so I just quickly wrote out this chapter. There might be a few typos, grammar issues, etc.  
> Feedback is appreciated thanks :)

Tomorrow for John was the worst time for him to be around anyone, besides the night of the full moon.  The night before was when the wolf was itching to be lest loose, it was a gravitational pull thing he guessed.  With his irritability level rising he couldn’t afford to be around Sherlock, in fear of hurting him out of anger, or worse.  The thought of Sherlock hurting him did come to mind, but then he remembered the way Sherlock had looked at him, the way Sherlock spoke to him.  It was more likely that Sherlock would get injured.  And John had the pain killers now; he also wasn’t forced into changing on a full moon.  He had done it once before, when he first got infected.  It was just painful the next day when the beast was clawing at him from the inside, desperately trying to get out.  John didn’t want a pissed off vampire on his tail if he didn’t go and keep an eye on his newly acquainted murderer, so betraying himself he followed his “orders” and got ready to head back to Baker Street.

Assuming he would be staying there for an unreasonable amount of time, he packed a large bag with a good number of jumpers, and trousers.  He then packed a smaller bag with all of his toiletries.  Cursing to himself as he did so.  “Pull it together John.  He said he would change.”  John mumbled to himself.  “This could all turn out fine; we will laugh back at all of this shit and think about how mental we were.”

 John gathered his things and set them by the door, he was prolonging leaving.  He went to the kitchen and made himself some tea and sat in his chair and turned on the television. He was flipping through channels when he got to the news.  He recognized the block that was taped off, his head began to swim and he could feel his tea coming back up. 

“No…”  Horror and anxiety consumed John.  He had been on that block not three days ago, and now it was a police crime scene.  He flipped off the television, emptied his tea in the sink, grabbed his things by the door and headed out in a rush.  Once on the street he attempted to hail a taxi, after a good number passed him by, he was finally able to get one.  “221 Baker Street.”  John blurted to the driver, making his tone sound as urgent as the situation called for.

John sat in the back shaking his leg up and down, it was a nervous tick.  He was so consumed with what had been going on he barely noticed his phone buzzing in his pocket.  After the fourth vibrate he fished it out to see four new text messages from an unknown number, John automatically assumed it was Sherlock. 

_I’m pretty positive I never gave him my number._

But this was the least of his worries now.  The scene on the news had been the one where Sherlock technically killed that girl; the police were investigating what they thought was a murder that Sherlock committed.  And John was freaking out because the girl apparently wasn't dead.  He wasn’t ready to be an accomplice to what looked like and could be counted as murder, especially since he had barely known the alleged killer.

John finally looked down at his phone, he read the first message:

                **John.  If a man comes to see you  Don’t invite him in – SH**

“Too late” he said under his breath, and noted that he was right about it being Sherlock.  The driver stopped at a light, and John took the opportunity to look and see where he was.  He was a good five minutes away, so he went back to his phone and scrolled to the next message.

                **He will ask you to watch me – SH**

John flipped to the next one

                **He is a pathological liar –SH**

He got to the last one; it contained one phrase and John wasn’t sure what it had meant:

                **Ajutați-mă – SH**

John finally arrived at Baker Street to see a police vehicle parked in front.  John thought the worst.  He grabbed his bags, paid the cabbie and quickly made his way up to Sherlock’s flat.  The door was opened slightly so he let himself in.  John saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, very tense.  Sherlock’s eyes widened at the sight of John, his lips parted slightly like he was about to speak; but the man with silver hair who had his back turned fiddling with a book had caught a glimpse of John out of the corner of his eye and beat Sherlock to it. 

“Hello mate.  Can I help you with something?”  Lestrad asked with curiosity and wonder as to who John was and what he was doing in Sherlock’s flat.  “Uh. No?”  John directed at the silver haired gentleman. “Sherlock,” John nodded in his direction without making eye contact, “I just ran home to get some things and I come back to a police officer?”  John lied, an impulse that had grown with his new life.  

Sherlock picked up on the lie quickly, and unsure why John was being deceitful in the first place; “John, this is Detective Inspector Lestrad.  He arrived very shortly after you left to come get some details on the crime scene I was telling you about.”  John froze, the police were involved now, and the thought of it frightened John.  But then he remembered something about Sherlock working with the police, and calmed down a little, not completely, but a little.

“Yeah I remember.  So what is it that you two are discussing, Lestrad?  I may be of assistance with my medical background.”  The DI looked John up and down, “Greg, please.”  He smiled, “We were just getting into how the apparent victim could have walked off after the struggle that was so apparently violent.”

John looked back at Sherlock, composed but a bit wide eyed.  “There was a lot of evidence of a struggle then…Greg?”  John smiled weakly at the man, uncomfortable and itching to leave.  “Yeah like a bloody brawl.  You know what?  I will just come back later, I’ve got sample in the lab and the results should have been done an hour ago.  Sherlock I’ll talk to you later.  Nice to meet you John, I will just see myself out.”

Greg Lestrad left the two in silence, shutting the door behind him.  Once Sherlock was positive that the DI had left, his posture slacked slightly.  “Why did you lie John?”  Sherlock asked, confused.  “You shouldn’t be here anyway.  Mycroft frightened you didn’t he?”  John didn’t know what to say, Mycroft didn’t frighten him frighten him, but he was intimidated.  He also didn’t have an explanation for why he had lied to Lestrad, it just came out. 

“There honestly is no reasonable explanation that I can give you. It just came out. I don’t know… It happens more frequently closer to the full moon end of the cycle.” John didn’t see any justification in defending his actions, but for some reason he felt that he had to with Sherlock, and then Sherlock interjected. “The lie was small, not that concerning.  You being here early is however.”  Sherlock eyed John, gathering all he could as to why he could be here a day before the full moon.  “It was Mycroft.  He paid an unexpected visit and now you’re here.  It really is the only just explanation.”

“Sure your brother did show up at my flat, I did invite him in, and he did talk me into showing up a few days early.  How are you by the way?  You don’t look as if you’re starving yourself.”  John tried to make light of the situation, so he flashed Sherlock an apologetic smile.  “You really shouldn’t fall to persuasion.  What if he had told you to kill?  You’re simple mind would have listened.”

John could tell Sherlock was on edge, even before the snide remarks.  “So the new diet isn’t working for you then?”  John, even with the lack of trust tried to get Sherlock to open up.  If he didn’t it was going to be a long stay.  “Fuck off John!”  Sherlock yelled; aggravated that he had to sit and talk about the new lifestyle that would make John happy.  It had finally hit him that no matter the attraction he felt towards John, it wouldn’t be mutual.  And the extents that he had taken and will take are only going to hurt him, if he continues to feel the way he does.

“Alright then.  I will just go put my things away; I will leave you to your brooding.”  John grabbed his bags and headed for the stairs up to his room.  Sherlock made no attempts to stop him but instead headed in the opposite direction to his room.  Mumbling to himself. 


	9. For you and only you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long since the last update, writers block is a bitch.. But im in the mood to write now! So i will be hopefully updating periodically throughout the next few days in between classes and hopefully sleep. but lets be honest sleep probably wont happen... So here is a short chapter, hopefully longer ones to follow! Comments good or bad are always welcomed! 
> 
> Have a wonderful day/night! :D

“Well last night went better than I hoped.  You didn’t rip my throat out so that’s a plus.”  John sat in the chair in the front room, paper in hand, talking to the figure hunched over the table behind him.  “Yes well you didn’t make it easy.”  Sherlock groaned, switching out slides under his microscope.  “It could have been worse Sherlock.”  Trying to make light of the events that took place the night before, he turned the page, placed the paper on the side table and walked over to Sherlock.  

_I’m sorry if I took it too far.  I wasn’t sure how irritable you would be, or even if you had stopped._

Sherlock looked up from the microscope, “You didn’t think I would stop?  I said I would John.  Even with the knowledge that I have gained in my life time, knowing what not feeding would entail.  I still refused to give in.  I have had my faults, and I will admit that addiction has come up before.  But what I am doing is for you, it is so much more than giving up a debilitating habit.  John for me to feed is in my DNA.  It’s like taking away oxygen from a human being.  With what hold you have on me…. It will be the death of me John. You will be the death of me.”

John had no clue what to say.  Sherlock was being honest, and it was a little more than John could handle.  Sherlock had opened himself to John, something neither of them had experienced in this way before.  “I had no idea…”  Was all John could muster out.  The intensity that Sherlock created between them was not something that they both could forget.  

“If you were to feed, how would that affect you?  Would you be able to control it?”  John asked; he didn’t want Sherlock to act the way he was now for the rest of the time he was staying there.  “John that’s all I would focus on, that’s all I will ever focus on is the blood, the hunt…. If I were to feed again I would revert.  I would still be me but I would have much more manipulative traits.  When you first met me; that man on the table, he was one of my victims I was covering up what I had done.”  

“But you were a hell of a lot better to be around then than you are now.  And if you can control it, and only drink what you need then there is no reason for you to continue on the way you are now.  So let’s forget about what I proposed before and we can-“  Sherlock slammed his hand down on the table, “Are you serious?  You have basically manipulated me with your presence, and now you want to forget about the withdrawal that I have only just begun to go through again so you don’t have to deal with my mood?”  

“Well when you put it that way I sound like a selfish prick…Oh mate I’m sorry.”  John said with sincerity,   Sherlock shrugged in agreement.  “It won’t work.”  John looked confused, “Why?”  Sherlock stopped messing with the slides and moved over to the couch.  “I either stop all together or I go back to the way I lived before you entered the equation.  There isn’t a middle.”  

“Well, I don’t know…  I just. I don’t want you killing.  That is the one thing that I can’t live with.”  John thought he was being sensible about the whole ordeal.  “It isn’t the blood that I am really addicted to John.  You have no idea the rush of adrenaline you get when you’re hunting.  Knowing that you are superior and have control of their precious little life. The blood just happens to be a plus, since my blood is stagnant and doesn’t flow through my body as yours does.  It is a circle John, I hunt because my body needs the sustenance and my mind needs the flowing adrenaline.”

John was stuck, there was no reasoning with Sherlock, he had figured that much, but he needed to find a way that Sherlock could go back to the way he was before but without the killing.   


	10. Mood Swings

“This is not what I signed up for Sherlock.  I just need something constant, something norm-“

“You will never be able to have normal!”  Sherlock hissed.  John flinched, Sherlock’s eyes darkened, “Sherlock, we will figure this out.  Or I can just leave so you can go back to the way you had it before I showed up.”

Sherlock let out a sigh, “You can’t leave.”  And with that he went into his room and shut the door softly behind him.  His anger seemed to have subsided rather quickly.  John stood frozen in the middle of the room.  “Well then what the hell are we going to do?”  He sighed and plopped to the floor.  His mind lost in thought.  The only thing he could think of that would be helpful would be for Sherlock to not kill the people he used.  

But according to his flat mate, that was out of the question, because of lack of control.  “Well he will just have to learn to control himself” John said aloud, lost in thought.  Schemes flowed through his mind, some wicked, some just plain ridiculous.  But one kept coming back to him.  

_No it’s too personal.  Too… reckless? No too… too.._

John never heard Sherlock’s door open, or the slender man walk in and sneak up behind him.  He was too preoccupied with himself and his thoughts.  “It’s not happening.”  Sherlock said in a low voice, kneeling down behind John, his lips level with his ear. 

John jumped up. Sherlock snickered:  “You need to work on focusing your senses, lowering your guard when so lost in thought can be a fatal mistake.”  John was far from amused.  “I see you’re in a better mood…” 

“For now.”  Sherlock smiled at John, “But just because my mood has lifted does not mean I will agree to the little set up you have running through your mind.” 

John was confused, he had a few solutions he was thinking of.  Sherlock saw his puzzlement, “You know very well which one I am talking about.”  He flashed another wicked grin.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like i have lost my groove with this story. I dont feel like i am giving my best, so for awhile i will be leaving it and working on some other ideas that i have had. I am not completly abandoning it by any means! just taking a break... hopefully i find my muse for this again because i have grown fond of the story, but i just can't seem to put any of it in the right words..


End file.
